Eleven
It felt like there was so much to do. But Dad had gone to pick up the boys. For me, there was nothing more important than a hot shower, clean clothes, and figuring out where I was going to live now. The bathroom was clean, but worn through with age. The pajamas were soft, if threadbare. It all felt sort of like getting a hug from my surroundings. Things wouldn’t be perfect, but they would be okay, for now.
The convent cell was about two-thirds the size of my old bedroom, but the tall, white walls somehow made it feel too open. I dumped the armful of clothes with Mum’s box on the bed, adding a splash of color to the dull, porridge-colored bedspread. I don’t know what I was expecting. Gooding wasn’t running a bed-and-breakfast here. Most of the time, the old convent served as storage space. Well. When they weren’t housing people down on their luck. People like us, I guess.
“We want to go to the house, Dad!” Ash called from down the hall.
“Not tonight.”
“Why not? It’s our home, too!” Jake, that time. It was probably the first time he’d ever raised his voice to Dad. If this was how they behaved in the church, I shuddered to think of how they’d behaved the whole ride here.
“Boys, please…” Dad sounded so tired.
I sank down onto the bed and closed my eyes. If I could ignore how thin the mattress was, how the room smelled like mothballs instead of lavender, I could almost pretend I was home, sitting on my bed, looking out at my own room. There, to the right of the bed, was where I kept my textbooks. Over in the corner was my knitting basket. And the loose floorboard where I hid my stash. Had it survived the fire? I couldn’t imagine it did. Half the things in that box were made of wood.
Tap tap. Tap tap.
I opened my eyes and turned. One of the shadelings stood in the window wringing its hands. I stared at it, my brain too fuzzy to really connect to what I was seeing for a few seconds. Then it clicked.
I rose and pushed the window open, stepping aside for the shadeling to enter. It hopped down from the windowsill and scuffled across the floor, tugging at one of its large, batlike ears.
“We … live here, now?”
“Yeah. For a while.” I sank down onto the flat mattress and patted the spot next to me. The shadeling hopped up beside me, grabbing at the pile of clothes to fold them. Or, well, try to fold them. This was probably the first time one of them had ever willingly tried to help with laundry. Lots of firsts tonight.
“Don’t worry about that,” I sighed, taking the wads of hand-me-downs away. “Come on, put it down.” The shadeling gripped a bright purple windbreaker until I finally tugged it free and added it to the pile. “Hey. Leave it be, I’ll take care of it later.”
I shoved the mound of clothes to the floor, but the shadeling wouldn’t be stilled. It scrambled to the head of the bed, where Mum’s box still was, and started picking bits of glass out of the wood. I grabbed the shadeling by its torso and dragged it off the bed, dangling it over the trash bin next to the door. “Drop it before you cut yourself.”
The shadeling glanced over its shoulder a little resentfully but opened its thin hands, letting the tiny shards tumble into the bin. Satisfied, I set it down on the ground.
“Seriously, I don’t need any of you helping me right now…” I blinked. Usually by this point a couple more shadelings would have showed up to make trouble. “Where are the others?”
“In the woods, Missy,” the shadeling said. “They don’t like the church. They say it’s too clean, and Mister Priest makes the shadows hard to swim through here.”
Of course. Gooding’s defenses around the church would be different from home, where ours were tough on powerful Fae, but not designed to repel something as tiny as a shadeling. I knelt down in front of the little creature, folding my hands in my lap.
“Why are you here, then?”
The shadeling shrugged, scuffing its foot against the stone floor before reaching into the small shadow it cast on the ground … and pulling out a well-folded brochure, singed at the edges and reeking of smoke.
“I thought you might want this, Missy.” Like a zookeeper trying to feed a testy leopard, it dropped the brochure in my lap. My heart skipped a beat as I stared down at the saccharine smiles of the students on the front under the bold title, PENNSYLVANIA STATE UNIVERSITY.
“We’re living there next, right?” it asked in a small, squeaking voice.
“You want to come to college with me?”
The shadeling tugged on its ear again, nodding. Somehow, the notion that any of them would actually want to come to college with me had never occurred to me … and how could I say no? With everything else going up in flames, this shadeling was still here. A lump formed in my throat and, dammit, the tears were coming back. The shadeling squeaked in alarm and scrambled to the pile of used clothes, grabbing an old pair of shiny granny panties to shove at my wet face.
I couldn’t help it. In spite of everything, a startled laugh escaped me. It felt like the worst possible time to be laughing, with everything going on, but it was sort of like grass growing through the cracks in the sidewalk. I couldn’t stop it, and it only made the cracks bigger, and soon I was laughing and tears streamed down my face. I bit down on my knuckle to quiet it all before Dad or the boys heard, but it was hard when the shadeling scrambled into my lap and pressed the satiny fabric of the panties to my cheeks again, mopping clumsily at the tears. I wrapped my arms around its tiny frame and hugged it close.
I almost let a small “thank you” slip out but stopped myself. I had to remember their rules. Instead, I dropped a kiss on the top of its head. It reeked like old cheese coated with the algae and earth that lingered around Gwen’s pool. Maybe the others were still there right now. I sighed and stroked its violet head. “You should go meet up with the others.”
The shadeling shook its head. “No. I’m staying here.”
It was staying. Relief flooded through me. This place felt just a little more like home now. I nodded and set the shadeling back on the ground before grabbing the pillow and sliding it under the bed where the shadows were darkest. For the barest of seconds, I wanted to pull it back and invite the little creature to share the bed with me, like they had when I was a kid. At the time, it had been so nice to have what felt like living, albeit smelly, imaginary friends … but the shadeling had already scrambled under the bed, curling up on the pillow like a cat. It looked as comfortable and at home there as a water wife in the pond. After everything, it deserved to be comfortable.
I folded up an old hoodie to make a new pillow, slid Mum’s box under the bed next to the shadeling, and turned off the light. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend I was home. There was no accounting for the poor padding the hoodie provided under my head, or the itchy blanket, or the cardboard-thin mattress, but maybe, just maybe, if I pretended hard enough …
The door creaked open and light streaked into the room. I cracked my eyelids just enough to see Dad silhouetted against the light of the hall. He stood for a few seconds, then nodded and left, shutting the door behind him.
I couldn’t sleep after that. It was stupid. I was exhausted. Sleep should have come as easily as closing my eyes, but it hovered forever out of my reach. With a huff, I reached under the bed, flipping open the latch on Mum’s box and digging through the necklaces and bracelets for her book.
Maybe it was in my head, but it almost felt like the covers thrummed with energy, like touching a power cord plugged into the wall. I flipped through the pages, but the dim light from the window wasn’t enough to read the scribbled words. But there was so much here … Mum had written so many different spells. Something had to help us. All of us. I couldn’t leave for school until this mess was cleaned up. Maybe Mum couldn’t do it … but I had fresh eyes, didn’t I?
Reluctantly, I closed the book, but I couldn’t bring myself to hide it in that box again. I slid it under the hoodie and rested my head on it. It felt like resting my head on a brick, but that was fine. In a bizarre way, I
felt stronger. I had Mum’s book now. I’d make sure the Fae never took anything from us again.
* * *
The charred hull of the house sat listlessly behind the iron gates, shivering in the wind like a cicada shell clinging to a wall. Any moment it might blow away. I walked up the path, so worn down over the years that the grass seemed to grow sideways. The gate was warm under my fingers, but it swung open without so much as a creak. The front door swung open before I even had to touch it. In a single step I was across the yard and inside the house.
Broken dishes littered the floor. There wasn’t a single smudge of ash or soot in the house. Just destruction. This was the Welsh house now, not the American one. The couch cushions had been ripped open, their fluffy innards spilled on the floor. Family photos lay ripped in shattered frames, hurled against the wall. I blinked, stepping into the living room. Mum’s favorite rug had a bright purple stain in the corner that made my skin crawl. I staggered away from it.
“Mum?” I called in a small voice, turning around in a full circle. Deep rents in the floral wallpaper exposed the wood beneath.
A tall, dark-haired figure flickered in the hall, her dove-gray gown fluttering on the breeze. Behind her flapped a red banner with a golden dragon.
“Mum!” I called again.
I charged down the hall, but the door to the bedroom stretched away like a rubber band. The faster I ran, the more blue congealed on the walls, fading into purple before settling into a thick, dripping red that seeped into the carpet, sticking to my shoes. And then I could smell it. Like copper and meat. I tried to breathe through my mouth, but I choked on it. My lungs burned as I swung my arms out, the red seeping into my eyes, painting over everything I could see.
My fingers touched brass. The door swung open.
I fell to my knees. Red turned to green. The stench faded into moss and earth as the house disappeared around me, replaced by the wild woods. I clung to the decaying leaves that coated the forest floor, sucking in air until my head spun.
“Mum?” I wheezed, blinking against the bright sun. It was midday, but my skin still felt chilled. I scrambled to my feet, my heart in my throat. There was nobody here. Not a bird or a bug in sight.
Words floated on the breeze, the lilt of old Welsh, older than I’d ever heard. Dove-gray silk fluttered between the trees. A face peered around the tree, and for a second it looked so like Mum that I almost ran to it. But no. Her nose was too straight. Her hair too long.
My heart jumped into my throat. I needed to go home. I needed to find the boys. I turned around and … and there he was.
The prince leaned against a tree, his chest heaving. Blue blood pooled around him and dripped from his snow-pale lips and the jagged tear in the side of his armor. His sparkling eyes locked with mine. My stomach flipped. He stretched out a hand.
No no no no don’t take it don’t take it he isn’t safe he isn’t a friend—
“I have bandages at my house,” I offered, slipping my hand into his.
White-hot pain exploded in my gut. The air hissed out of my lungs. The world blurred black at the edges until all I could see was the red-stained hilt that sprouted from my stomach, right through the worn cotton of my nightgown with the silly mouse pattern.
“Thank you,” my Fae prince whispered in a voice like velvet.
The ground pounded into the side of my head. I watched the Fae’s bare, bloody feet retreat, his blue and my red mingling on the green grass.
I closed my eyes and sucked in a slow, shuddering breath. The pain faded to a dull ache. The grass under my cheek thinned and stiffened, scratching against my cheek. I forced my eyes open. The green forest had withered into grays and browns, dead and listless and so unlike the forest I knew from my memory. Unnatural lights flitted from the trees, paired with laughs that sounded as though they were being played through a tinny old radio. The air crackled with a thousand tiny electric sparks. And in the middle of it all, Mum knelt over her book, flipping through the pages frantically. Her favorite floral-print dress pooled on the ground around her. My heart jumped into my throat. Tears stung at my eyes.
“Mum,” I wheezed.
“Ssh, sweetheart,” she crooned, her eyes wild as she stared down at the pages. “I don’t have much time with you.”
I started to push myself up, but the dead grass and moss stung my palms like needles.
“Stay where you are, Bryn. Don’t let them—” Mum stiffened, glanced over her shoulder. Dove-gray silk flashed between the trees. Sometimes nearer, sometimes farther. Mum gasped and shoved the book toward me. “Quickly, dear. I don’t … There’s no time.”
“For what?” I blinked hazily, reaching for her hand, but she pulled away before I could touch her.
She stared back at me, her dark, bloodshot eyes filling with tears. “Stop them for good. Keep our family safe.” She bit her lip. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you from this, my darling girl. But I know you have the strength to finish where I left off.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but the words wouldn’t come. Mum shoved the book into my hands. I blinked.
All I could see was the dark scrawl across a vellum page.
GWELLA
GWYBODAETH
FREUDDWYTH
* * *
I JOLTED AWAKE, my heart fluttering like a hummingbird. It was just a dream. Unless it wasn’t. I hadn’t dreamt about Mum in forever, and now I’d had two dreams in three nights. Maybe she was reaching out from wherever the Fae had taken her.
I dragged the book out from under the hoodie and took a deep breath. Gwella, Gwybodaeth, Freuddwyth. Dad hadn’t bothered to speak Welsh in the house since we came to Pennsylvania. It took me a second to process the words through my head, like starting a car that hadn’t been touched in ages. Gwella, Gwybodaeth, Freuddwyth. Healing, Knowledge, Dreaming. She couldn’t have possibly given spells and rituals such simple names. Right?
The spine creaked as I opened the book, the must from the old vellum filling the room like an ancient perfume. I couldn’t read most of what she’d written. Some was English. Some was the rudimentary Welsh I’d learned as a kid. Then there was definitely Gaelic, something in Futhark, and everything else was too foreign for me to interpret. Something warm bloomed in my chest as I flipped through the pages. These were Mum’s. She’d written these words, drawn these little diagrams. Maybe, if she’d been around, she would have tried to teach all of this to me.
“I told you!” Jake spat.
I started. Out in the hall, the twins hissed like a couple of snakes at each other, their voices too quiet to hear, save for when Jake got really emotional. It sounded something like a radio going in and out.
“… never listen to me … everything … Dad … should have told me!”
Whatever Ash said in return, it must have been exactly the wrong thing to say. A door slammed.
I shut the book and shoved it under the thin mattress. Two seconds passed. Then three. Nothing came to the door. I ought to crawl back into bed and pretend to sleep, but something told me I needed to at least try to comfort whoever was still out in the hall.
When a full minute had passed, I padded to the door and pushed it open, peering out into the dark hall.
Ash sat hunched against the wall, a smear of soot across his cheek, clutching a grimy box full of charred belongings he must have scavenged from the house. At the top was that pair of headphones he’d begged Dad for last Christmas. The foam peeked out in places where the thin rubber had been burned. They probably didn’t even work anymore.
Ash stared down at the ground with glazed eyes. As quiet as I was trying to be, there was still no way he hadn’t heard me. But he didn’t even glance up.
I knelt down next to him and waited for the words to come, but what could I say? Nobody had told me what I needed to hear yet. Nobody had made me feel safe. I didn’t even know what it was I needed to hear, much less what would help him.
Ash beat me to it. “Jake says it’s them.” He spa
t the word out as he looked up at me, cheeks red.
My stomach flipped. We didn’t talk about this. We’d never talked about this. But the boys weren’t stupid. They knew exactly what had taken Mum. They deserved better than a lie right now. “We think so, yeah.”
For just a moment, he looked like he was ready to throw the box across the hall. His cheeks burned red. Tears pooled at the corners of his eyes. “I always wanted to see one of them. I thought if I could meet one it’d make sense why they took her.”
I reached out to rest my hand on his shoulder, but he jerked away, holding the box to his chest as he scrambled to his feet. He stormed into his room, slamming the door behind him.
I stared at the closed door. It felt like all my energy drained out of me … but there was nothing else I could do for him now. At least, nothing beyond what I was already doing.
I dragged myself to my feet and trudged into my room. The little purple shadeling sat on the bed, gnawing on something I didn’t really want to identify.
“Still just you?” I asked, unloading my textbooks and binders onto the bed.
The shadeling glanced up and nodded.
“The others don’t like it here, Missy. I told you.”
“But they’re safe, right?”
The shadeling nodded. “They’re clever. They’ll be fine.”
It was a strange sensation. For so long, I’d wished they’d go away and stop stealing my cosmetics and tangling up my yarn and knocking over the trash can. Now I just wanted them back. I wanted to see with my own eyes that everything was okay. I’d have to satisfy myself with being able to look after this one. For one crazy moment, I considered telling the others about them. Father Gooding wouldn’t be too pleased I was allowing a Fae in here past his protections, but the boys could keep a secret. And wouldn’t it be better for Dad to know that one fairy out there was trustworthy?
Was it worth the risk that they might make me send it away?
I hesitated, then rested my hand on the shadeling’s head.
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